Paul found his way back to his old seat. A few minutes later, a waitress approached him. He took one look at her name tag and forced a smile to appear on his lips.

Not Clara.

No tanned skin in the middle of winter. No beautiful Spanish accent and long arms. Not Clara. He ordered a drink, told the cocktail waitress to keep them coming every single time she saw his glass get empty.

And gambled. 

So much for his god forsaken holiday.